


Lacy Scrap of Hope

by accidentalrambler



Series: Until We're A Whisper [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Moriel - Freeform, Moriel smut week, NSFW, Secret Relationship, Smut, just a little bit, moriel drabbles, the one where Azriel's kinky side is showing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 01:37:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9359906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidentalrambler/pseuds/accidentalrambler
Summary: It’s a game she plays with herself, a twisted bet of sortsHow long is she going to hold out this time? How long can she go without?How long it’ll take before she falls into his bed again?AU with secret relationship between Mor and Azriel. Smut happens.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Moriel Smut Week on tumblr, based on "Lingerie" prompt.
> 
> Basically shameless smut with the premise that Mor and Azriel have been secretly getting it on for decades or so.

It’s a game she plays with herself, a twisted bet of sorts.

How long is she going to hold out this time? How long can she go without?

How long it’ll take before she falls into his bed again?

Sneaking off from Rita’s is an easy part. It’s a ritual she’s perfected over the years, just like she’s trained her muscles to feign smiles and learnt to colour her voice with a tinge of nonchalance.

But no matter how she much tries, his shadows always seem to see right through her.

Mor knows there’s no reason to mold her features into the mask or to pretend everything’s fine. Not with the war looming over them, with Rhys wallowing in sorrow and desperation as Feyre’s sorting through her feelings in the cabin, not with -

Not with Az being away for days and _weeks_ , toeing the line of secrecy and death as he tries to fulfill his mission, failure heavy on his shoulders. He blames himself, she’s well aware of that, and if she feels like it’s her failure that she’s unable to find the words that will convince him otherwise.

Yet right now, it’s not about faults and failures nor about doubts, it’s about feeling and living and so, Mor takes a deep breath before stepping into her rooms.

He’s already there.

There’s need and haste in their moves as they meet in the middle of the room, bodies crushing together, his dark shadows tangling in the fair waves of her hair. They seem to whisper to her, in this ancient primal language that lovers use, smoothing over her skin like silk her robes are made of.

“Az,” she whispers, cradling his face in her palms, noting every new crease that worry has etched under his eyes.

His skin feels so familiar under her touch. His name on her lips tastes like home.

Azriel. Azriel. _Az_.

He seals his lips over hers in a searing kiss and she can taste her own name on his tongue in response. Mor runs her fingers through his coal black hair, pulling on the few loose strands at the nape of his neck to rush him.

It works and in a matter of seconds, her midnight blue robes scattered around her bedroom, and she’s almost naked against his clothes, safe for a pair of lacy thong paired with garter and a pearl necklace around her neck.

“Mor,” he croaks into her mouth and it’s a question, a prayer, an endless song.

His clothes follow their way to her bed and they fall into the sheets.

The pearls of her necklace scrape against her hot skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Azriel’s lips stretch in a smile and it’s a wicked one, and then his wings stretch behind his back, showing their full, impressive span.

It sends a jolt of heat down her body.

He takes her hands and puts them on the rails of the headboard as he settles between her thighs. “Keep them there for now.” Comes his demand, spoken softly but dark around the edges.

With one hand, Azriel traces the patterns of her lacy thong, his touch too light and teasing, causing her to grit her teeth. Her hips buck involuntarily and Mor cannot help the motion - _doesn’t want to_ \- seeking all the friction she can get. He looks at her knowingly, applying more pressure to keep her lower body still while his other hand takes hold of her necklace.

One swift move and it’s ripped off her neck, a gasp of surprise escaping Mor’s  lips. “That one was my favourite!”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Aren’t you getting a little bossy?”

He furrows his brows, features schooled into an expression of confusion and innocence. “But you love it when I’m bossy,” he says, his fingers busy as they move to brush the pearls against her taut nipples.

The action makes her shiver, the surface of jewels cool against her skin, contrast to the burning touch of his hand. Mor wants to say something else, it’s on the tip of her tongue but then Az fastens the necklace around her nipple and pulls.

And pulls again.

Whatever she meant to say, she can’t remember.

His lips are quick to close around her other bud, hard and tight, and he laves it with his tongue and sucks it into his mouth while his other hand -

Pulls again.

The ache between her thighs is unbearable now, soft little whimpers that warm his cheek and a steel grip she has on the headboard the only release of tension she can get.

But she wants more. So much more.

Heat pulls in her belly and she feels like in a frenzy with all the senses on overload.

_His hot mouth._

_The cold strong grip around her nipple._

_The lace of her underwear irritating her oversensitive skin_.

“Az,” she groans. “Az,” she sobs. “Az,” she hisses - hungry and impatient and desperate.

He lifts his head and their eyes meet and for a moment Mor thinks she could drown in the hazel depth of his gaze. And Azriel must’ve read the silent plea in hers because his hand dives under the lacy fabric just as his wings stretch over their bodies, forming a dark membrane coat around them. He loses the necklace and replaces it with his lips while his fingers trail down, down, down to -

To he slit, soaked and throbbing and ready and Mor feels Az’ moan of satisfaction - it reverberates around her nipple - as he begins to stroke her, slowly, up and down, and up, and down, pressing and brushing and circling, until she’s a panting mess under him.

“Come for me, Mor,” he rasps into her skin. “Come for me. Now.” His thumb darts to her clit and he rubs it - hard and firm. It sends a jolt of pleasure through her nerve endings and tips her over the edge, her orgasm violent like the bite of her teeth into his shoulder that almost draws blood.

She hooks her numb arms around Azriel’s neck and he cradles her against his chest. His breathing is only a bit less frantic than hers but mixed with his scent that she inhales with every intake of air, Mor manages to calm as she comes down from her high.

They lie like this for a while, Azriel’s wings shielding them from the reality that’s looming beyond. She knows it won’t last but they still have until dawn and for now all she wants to do is focus on making him fall apart and snapping that steel control.

And maybe they will talk in the morning, about this need that ceaselessly simmers in his eyes or about why she always ends up in his arms, coming back for more.

And if not - there are other mornings to come and they will continue to fight. For Velaris and for their friends and for...them.

And for now, Mor will just bask in the warmth of his gaze and his wings and hold onto hope - this fragile lacy thing that rests in the grip of his fingers.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my first time writing Moriel and to be honest, I find them the most difficult out of all my acomaf otps so any comments would be appreciated :)


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